


It's a Treacherous Thing

by Ephemera_pop (Alex_Draven)



Series: Popslash Pumas [2]
Category: Popslash
Genre: AU, M/M, Multi, Were-Creatures, Were-pumas
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2005-05-24
Updated: 2005-05-24
Packaged: 2018-10-16 19:04:31
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 905
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10577595
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Alex_Draven/pseuds/Ephemera_pop
Summary: "Some friend you are, Bass.""Dude – We've been in Vegas for very nearly forty-eight hours and I still haven't gotten to have sex with anyone because I've been listening to you bitch and moan. I am playing poker with you in our suitespecificallyso you can bitch and moan. I am a fucking excellent friend."And drunk, Chris noted. Nicely, rosy cheeked, arm waving, drunk. Let's-split-a-bottle-of-wine-over-dinner-and-have-them-restock-the-suite-bar-while-we're-eating drunk.If he was being very very honest Chris might have to admit he wasn't far behind himself. Which seemed wrong, seeing as Lance wasn't the one whose lover was fucking around in the Everglades with Nick fucking Carter. He should totally be drunker.  Or less honest with himself. Probably both.





	

**Author's Note:**

> An additional scene for It's A Perfect Dream, for the Kink and Cliche challenge. There's *more* of this, with both the kinks, but the part that got finished in time is cliche, all the way ;)

"Chris?"

"Yeah?"

"I know, ok, so just shut up, decide if you're still in on this hand, and let's play, ok?"

Chris glared at his hand and flicked two chips into the centre. He took a long draw on his whisky before deigning to answer.

"Some friend you are, Bass."

"Dude – We've been in Vegas for very nearly forty-eight hours and I still haven't gotten to have sex with anyone because I've been listening to you bitch and moan. I am playing poker with you in our suite _specifically_ so you can bitch and moan. I am a fucking excellent friend."

And drunk, Chris noted. Nicely, rosy cheeked, arm waving, drunk. Let's-split-a-bottle-of-wine-over-dinner-and-have-them-restock-the-suite-bar-while-we're-eating drunk.

If he was being very very honest Chris might have to admit he wasn't far behind himself. Which seemed wrong, seeing as Lance wasn't the one whose lover was fucking around in the Everglades with Nick fucking Carter. He should totally be drunker. Or less honest with himself. Probably both.

"and that waiter – the one with the ass, and …"

"Lance?"

"god, those _fingers_ \- couldn't you just."

"Lance"

"sucking and … what?"

"Do me a favour and go and get laid already."

The bottom of the glass was sticky and the whisky was a smoked warmth snaking down his chest, and the glass made a good solid sound when it hit the table, ready to be refilled.

"Fuck you, Chris."

Lance's glass landed next to Chris' – close enough to chink – which brought Lance all up in Chris' face, flushed and blinking and enunciating with extreme care.

"Fuck you. I came here with you, and I'm going to stay here with you, and sooner or later you are going to tell me what's going on in your crazy Chris brain, and you're going to feel better and _then_ I am going to get laid. It's a plan."

"You have a plan?"

"I have a plan! It's a good plan."

"I invite you away for the week, and you hatch a plan?"

Lance's expression somehow managed to take on a Valley accent long enough to say 'Well, duh' without needing to use anything as crude as actual words. It was really really endearing and really really annoying at the same time. Chris leant over half an inch more, so he could tousle Lance's hair with a heavy hand. Mostly because it would piss Lance off, and because while they were tussling and sending poker chips all over the floor, maybe Lance's plan would stay safely far away.

Of course, as a way of avoiding The Plan and associated conversations, announcing "Anyway, I told you." in a disgruntled voice just as the giggles were dying down and Lance was fishing around above his head trying to snag the bottle without actually getting untangled or standing up, really kinda sucked. Plus it meant that Lance stopped to blink, and the bottle bonked absently against Chris' head.

When they were done flailing and tug-of-warring over the drink, and both of them had full glasses again, and their legs were still all interlaced and the edge of the sofa was only digging Chris in the back a moderate amount, he realised Lance was still looking at him with worrying intent.

"What?"

"You're this p'd off because Jace want on some hunting thing with Nick? I thought you guys were all buddy buddy these days?"

"I'm not pissed! I just … I thought he was going to catch up on some time with you, or hang out with Joey, or hit the studio or something! He's been holed up at mine forever, and now everyone knows, he can be doing stuff."

"Just not doing Nick Carter type stuff?"

"More just, not doing Nick Carter."

Chris glared at Lance for tricking the words out of him, and then for doing that eyebrow thing drunk Lances did when they were trying not to crack up. "Shut up!"

"I didn’t say anything!"

Chris made a sound that might, in a different time and place, be described as a 'pish'

"I didn't! I may have _thought_ that you're making one hell of an assumption, but I absolutely, categorically, did not say that. Until now. Fuck. Sorry?"

"See?"

"What?"

"You're a lousy friend. You're meant to be all sympathetic and pet me and tell me that I'm being stupid and that my JC wouldn't do that."

"Your JC?" Chris glared. "Oh Chris. Come here, you idiot." Lance's hands were hot and insistent, pulling at Chris' upper body so that Lance could blanket around him.

"Did C say anything?"

"He's in Florida, with Nick, and he spent the whole time we were on the phone on Thursday telling me about how awesome Nick is and about the two of them hunting and swimming and doing disgusting things to medium sized herbivores …."

"Puma things, right?"

"Dude – I really didn’t want to think about Nick Carter ripping the neck out of a Key deer when he's still – you know – Nick. Ewww."

Lance pulled a face in sympathy, washing the image away with another mouthful of whisky, before settling with his chin in Chris' collar bone. "Yeah? So? They're doing the cat thing. Not the sex thing."

Chris snorted. "You haven't seen Nick naked." Lance's blush would have been a dead giveaway if Chris had been able to see him. "And Jace was talking about licking."

"Licking?"

"I told you. They're probably having kinky sex right now, bastards."

"Bastards." Lance agreed.


End file.
